


Seventh Day

by Theboys



Series: Dear God, It's Me, Dean [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Sam, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Angst, M/M, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Dean, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 02:59:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4374605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theboys/pseuds/Theboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Take care of--take good care of what’s yours, Sam. Alright?” Dean’s never been particularly good at talking, doesn’t know how to say anything that matters.<br/>In which a stalemate is reached, and decisions must be made.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seventh Day

Dean can feel Sam’s body shivering behind his own, and he can’t tell if it’s originating from his brother or himself.

Dean rocks his ass backwards, until Sam’s dick is flush against his backside, curving warm and hard between his ass.

Dean’s mewling like a cat in heat, dragging his ass in tiny circles. He’s humping lewdly, and suddenly Sam’s fingers are locked on his hips, halting his movements. “Dean,” he gasps, voice constrained. “Dean, sweetheart, I know this is hard for you right now--” Sammy grunts when Dean shoves himself back with the last of his waning strength.

Sam’s dick pops perfectly in between his cheeks, and Dean whimpers when he feels it jerk, libido skyrocketing.

Sam’s rolling him over, like lightning then, his body hovering over Dean’s prone one. “M’not doing this twice, Dean.” Dean’s rolling his hips against the bedcovers, half pants escaping his throat. “Dean. Dean I’m gonna have to leave. I can’t stay in bed with you.”

Dean can feel Sam lifting, removing that delicious (safe safe safe) pressure from his back, leaving Dean bereft. Exposed. Dean arches up, hazily wondering why this time it’s happening so quickly, why he barely had a second to adjust before the heat was clawing at his insides, burning him alive.

Dean can see Sam standing, and his eyes are blood red, chest heaving.

Dean does something he’s never done before, never in front of Sammy. He reaches behind him and tugs his boxers down, letting them settle at his ankles before he kicks them away. Sam’s kneeling beside the bed in an instant, one smooth motion, hand lingering just over top of Dean’s ass.

Dean turns his face to his brother, jaw slack. “S’m. Sammy. I need you. M’not kidding. I can’t do this shit alone again--” The warmth is back, and this time it’s flush against his body. “That’s all I need, Dean.”

Dean can hear his brother unbuttoning his pants, whimpers at the drag of denim down his ass and legs, and then

**finally**

the unfettered press of Sam’s dick to his ass, and Dean moans aloud when the head catches ever-so briefly on his rim, and dislodges itself.

Sam’s cheek is right next to his ear, abruptly, and his hair brushes across Dean’s face. “This is it, Dean.” His voice is fully in Alpha register, and Dean thinks Sam is less intelligent than he thought if he thinks Dean is cognizant of anything he has to say. Sam settles behind him, on his knees, and jerks Dean’s hips up brutally, exposing his dripping ass to the cold air of the room.

“I’m not sharing you, Dean. I’m never fucking sharing you again, after this.” Dean’s keening now, humping the air behind him. “Please, Sammy, please, please, please--”

If Dean thought that Sammy would be gentle, or slow, then he was sorely mistaken, because Sammy lines himself up and breaches Dean’s hole with a growl that’s far more animal than human. Sam’s fingers dig into Dean’s hips so hard he can feel the flesh give way underneath them.

Dean’s sobbing, great big wet noises, and he bows his head so far down it drags against the pillow. He feels split apart, like his only vocation in life to be Sam’s knot toy, to wiggle on his dick and plead for more. Sam’s thrusting in small circles, mainly meant to keep his cock lodged firmly against Dean’s prostate.

“Tell me you’re mine,” Sam snarls, body rigid with Alpha hormones. A tremble causes Dean’s body to ripple and he whines low in his throat.

“I won’t move a muscle til you tell me. You tell me you’re mine--” he reaches forward with one broad palm and wraps a hand around Dean’s neck, angling his face so he can better hear. “and tell me you’re never gonna deny me again.”

Dean struggles in Sam’s grasp, and finally relents, turning tear-stained green eyes to meet Sam’s, which are surprisingly hazel, signifying that he’s in control of his wolf. “M’yours, Sammy. Your ‘mega, your good boy, anything, Sammy, please fuck me--”

Magic words.

Dean realizes, right then, just how much iron self control Sam’s been exercising all of his life. Sam shoves his entire body so far up the bed that his head smacks against the headboard. Sam reaches forward then, cradling the top of Dean’s head in his palm so that his hand smashes against the wall with every thrust, instead of Dean.

He doesn’t stop, though. Doesn’t slow down, not even once. Dean’s scrabbling for purchase on the sheets, entire body vibrating with Sam’s heavy-handed thrusts. Sam doesn’t stop spewing filth above him, doesn’t so much as take a pause for air.

“Jesus Christ, Dean. You’re so wet, fucking soaking the bed,” he takes his free hand and drags two fingers up the slippery backs of Dean’s thighs. He brings his digits around to Dean’s face, prodding at his brother’s lips. “Open up, baby,” he coaxes, sliding slick fingers past Dean’s mouth.

Dean suckles obediently, and he’s rewarded by a guttural moan from above. He sucks harder, then, laving his tongue around and around until Sam gently dislodges them. “Taste like fruit, Dean?” He doesn’t seem to require an answer, which is beneficial because Dean’s in no shape to deliver one.

“Fucking taste as good as you smell?” He lets his index finger glide around Dean’s obscenely stretched rim, and Dean shivers, attempting valiantly to fuck himself on Sam’s abruptly motionless dick. “Lemme look, Dean,” he breathes reverentially.

“You know how many times I imagined this? Imagined you letting me have this?” Sam begins again, somehow more forceful than before, more desperation in the rhythm. “Never thought I’d get to have you hangin’ offa me, my own personal knot slut--” Dean’s orgasm is building, he’s getting off on Sam’s incessant talking, the slick glide of his cock against his tight inner walls.

Dean can hear the smile creep into Sam’s voice when he realizes Dean is actually listening. “Like that, baby? Wanna be my bitch? Gonna let me--”he punches Dean’s sensitive bundle of nerves three times, like a sledgehammer, and Dean can feel Sam’s base begin to expand.

“Let me keep you naked, presenting over the dinner table?” Sam’s breaths are quicker now, and his voice is lowering even further, if at all possible. “Keep you stuffed full? Wanna sit on my dick all day, keep it warm?”

Sam shoves his knot inside with a final thrust, locking them together with a lewd, slick sound. Dean’s crying because he’s never felt a knot, not in all his life, and this one has his dick jerking spasmodically over his bedsheets, entire body humping wildly even though Sammy’s the only thing keeping them upright.

Sammy’s coming in waves internally, and Dean feels the warmth spread out within, hears Sam’s grunts above him, hears the devout way he’s whispering Dean’s name over and over again.

Sam collapses beside him, turning Dean gently on his side so he’s little spoon. Sam’s fingers find his stomach determinedly, presses down with two fingers until he’s at the place where he can feel his own dick. Dean whimpers, against his will.

Sam’s laugh is a warm, living thing behind him, and Dean shakes his ass in response, causing Sam to moan in disgruntled satisfaction. Dean’s breathless, which is strange considering that Sammy did most of the work, but he manages to speak regardless.

“Didn’t--didn’t claim me.” The tips of his ears flush and hopes against hope that the scent of his embarrassment will be drowned out by the smell of sex. Sam shuffles closer and the increased stimulation makes them both groan in pleasure.

“I know, baby. Wanted to ask you again, when you weren’t out of your mind.” Dean rolls his eyes. That’s such a Sammy thing to do.

“How’d you do it? Shit, how did you not claim me the instant you knotted?” Sam’s still behind him, recognizing what a loaded question that is. It’s damn difficult to deny that instinct at the best of times, when knotting a stranger. But he left Dean’s neck unblemished.

Sam’s answer is sheepish. “Ripped your pillow to shreds. My body had to bite something, and that was closest.” Dean’s shaking a bit with laughter, and Sam can’t help but respond in kind, alongside him.

Dean’s silent for a second, lower lip caught between his teeth. “You c’n do it now, Sam. If you want.”

Sam’s thumb gently pries Dean’s lip from between his teeth. “S’not about what I want, Dean. Do you want it?” Dean nods, dumbly, not wanting to give any further fuel to this bitch-flavored fire. Sam leans forward and Dean can hear the smooth snick as his incisors lengthen and he positions himself just below Dean’s right ear.

He clamps down with incredible force, and Dean’s entire body tenses and arches--and he’s coming again, an incredibly charged orgasm, and he’s wailing loudly through it, as Sam releases him and licks around the wound, then peppers it with kisses.

“Smell like me.” Sam’s voice is awestruck, giddy, the culmination of so many years of longing. “I wasn’t kidding Dean, he begins seriously. I’ll never share you.” Dean grumbles. “Fucking Alphas, man. Can I piss by myself or are you in charge of that, too?”

“Dean,” he rumbles, and Dean responds to the authority automatically, irritated that he’s not irked about the affair.

“Stop that,” Dean murmurs, without any real heat. Doesn’t have it within him to feel any anger towards Sammy.

“Sorry,” he apologizes humbly, but then the timbre changes again, and he’s Dean’s Alpha, Dean’s very large, very imposing, Alpha. Dean shrinks, instinctively.

“I’m serious, though, Dean. I’ll kill anyone that touches you. And if you don’t want me to, you’d better give me a damn good argument against it.” Dean wants to punch Sam, tell him to stop acting like a knot-head with a shiny new toy, but he knows his brother.

Understands that this is how it is. And Sam’s terrified of losing him. He can scent that, now, underneath Dean’s own heat scent and his new, mutated Samsmell. Sam’s waiting for this to go belly up.

Doesn’t think he’ll ever really be able to hold onto what belongs to him.

Dean pushes back against the knot in his ass and catches the aborted groan that Sam makes. “Dean, what’re you--stop--” Dean stills his movements, because he can feel the edges of his heat licking at his skin again.

“That’s you, Sam. That’s your sasquatch-sized knot lodged in my ass.” Sam’s hand sneaks down between them, kneads the flesh of Dean’s ass between his palms, satisfied sound humming in his throat. Dean clears his throat in preparation for his next sentence.

“That belongs to you, Sam. I--I belong to you. That’s yours, same as it’s always been.” Sam’s barely breathing at this point, entire being focused on Dean. “Take care of--take good care of what’s yours, Sam. Alright?” Dean’s never been particularly good at talking, doesn’t know how to say anything that matters.

Sam’s always been good with words, telling people what they wanna hear, convincing them that they want to do things. Good thing about he and Sammy, though, is that they’ve always understood one another.

His brother rests his chin on top of Dean’s head, and Dean can feel the warm puff of his breath against his scalp. 

**Author's Note:**

> comments, per usual, are ever helpful!


End file.
